


October in Red Lodge

by pissedoffeskimo



Series: All We Have [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1729898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedoffeskimo/pseuds/pissedoffeskimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampires.  Why the hell did it have to be vampires? (Otherwise known as: Bloodlust 2.0)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seeing as it has been six years since I really managed to write anything, I went through and edited the previous stuff. There were very few changes, mostly to grammar and spelling issues. Nothing really pivotal to the story up to this point was changed. I did make one kinda/sorta important, teeny tiny change in Safety Net, since it’s set after this and I knew posting that one before I did this one was a bad idea, but, hey, hindsight being twenty/twenty and all that. So, if you’ve done a copy and paste job in the past, you can refresh it at your leisure.

“Dean, phone!”  
  
Dean finished jotting down the order for his table and excused himself with a crooked smile and self assured nod that made the girls giggle and his eye twitch. By ten, the Roadhouse would be knee deep in Hunters and truckers, but starting at around six, a handful of local teens, especially girls, had a tendency to drop by for what passed as food.  
  
Hell if he knew why, because it wasn’t like there weren’t better places to eat and Jo said it only happened when they were back in town. That was one of the many reasons Dean didn’t usually hang around long. If they were in and out in under three days, rumors of their presence didn’t have time to circulate.  
  
Unfortunately, John’s instructions to ‘lay low’ had turned into a three week stay, interrupted only briefly by the clown hunt that was - even if Dean would never admit it - creepy as friggin’ hell. Not to mention that, since there were clowns involved, Sam had absolutely refused to have sex of any kind. Especially after Dean walked out of the motel bathroom naked, wearing a red nose and orange wig, which was totally hilarious, no matter what Sam had to say about it.  
  
Grabbing the phone from Ellen’s outstretched hand, he saw Sam at the pass-through, looking at him curiously and smiled, winking before turning his attention to the phone. “Dean.”  
  
“You’re not answering your phone.”  
  
Dean frowned, momentarily caught off guard by John’s accusing tone. He replayed the words and his frown deepened. Reaching back, he looked around the bar when he felt the empty pocket, confirming that Jo was indeed missing. “Son of a bitch.”  
  
“You okay?”  
  
He swore again and looked up to see Sam, chuckling at something to his right. Fucking perfect. “Yeah, I’m fine.”  
  
John sighed, “You can’t let your guard down just because you’re at the Roadhouse.”  
  
“Do you have something to tell me?”  
  
There was a short pause. “Yeah, look, I’m gonna be laid up here for a while.”  
  
Dean bit the inside of his mouth, trying to quell his growing concern. The last few weeks apart had done a lot of good. The fist that had lodged itself into his chest had loosened considerably and he kind of found himself almost looking forward to getting back on the road with John.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Sam, who tensed every time John was mentioned. It seemed the more okay with the situation Dean became, the more uneasy Sam was. That unease was what had nearly gotten Sam killed on their last hunt. John had told Dean to stake out a certain patch of road and Dean had readily agreed. Sam had thought it was a waste of time and they’d been arguing when the spirit had shown up, catching them both off guard. If John hadn’t gotten there when he did, ‘run over’ would have been the least of Dean’s concerns.

Running a hand through his hair, Dean concentrated on the scratched up wood grain of the bar top. “Laid up? Last time I saw you, you barely had a scratch.”

John grunted, “I thought I’d stop in and see Bobby.”

Dean fought a grin. “He didn’t shoot you, did he? You know he’s been threatening to do that since I first told him you were back.”

“I didn’t think he was serious.”

“Bobby’s always serious when it comes to guns and people he wants shoot. How bad is it?”

“I’ll be laid up a couple of months.” Dean cringed, but there was an edge of self-satisfaction in his gut, because damnit if John didn’t deserve it at least a little and Bobby wouldn’t have shot him anywhere that would do permanent damage. “How are things on your end?”

Dean glanced over at Ellen, who was standing just out of earshot, and lowered his voice slightly. “Awkward. Ellen says she’s okay with it, but… hell, I don’t know and Sam refuses to have sex, even though everyone already knows. Ash keeps giving us the thumbs up when me and Sam go to bed and Jo thinks it’s funny to put love songs in her CD player and blast them through the house first thing in the morning. If I wake up to ‘Oh Lamoure’ one more time, I’m gonna string her up and not feel bad about it.”

“Oh Lamoure?”

“Erasure.” Jo came out of the kitchen, grinning, holding Dean’s phone up between her thumb and index finger. He groaned. “Damnit, I gotta go.”

“Wait, Ellen tells me you went on a hunt?”

“Yeah.” Dean pointed a warning finger at Jo, who mouthed ‘oh, I’m so scared,’ before tossing the phone over to him.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the two of you hunting alone.”

“We’re big boys, John. We handled Chuckles the Clown just fine. I think we can take care of ourselves.”

“I’m not talking about hunting, Dean.” Dean shoved his phone securely into his back pocket.

“I know - the demon and everything. We’ll call you if things get dicey. I gotta get back to work.”

He hung up before John could protest and went over to the kitchen pass-through, slapping the ticket down. “I got two cheeseburgers. Sam, what did Jo put on my phone?”

Sam held up his hands in surrender, “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Bullshit, you’re just afraid of a little girl.” A small, sharp elbow ground into Dean’s back and he grunted.

Sam raised an eyebrow, “No, Dean, I’m afraid of a _vicious_ little girl.”

Jo opened her mouth to reply - probably to complain that she wasn’t little, she was average and it wasn’t her fault Sam was ginormous - but before she could say anything, Ellen interrupted. “Dean, I don’t pay you to sit around and chat.”

Sticking her tongue out, Jo jaunted off to take a loaded tray of beer to a table in back and Dean gave Ellen his best ‘why always me’ look before slapping the ticket again, glaring at Sam for his betrayal before going back to the bar.

He took a quick survey of his mostly empty tables before leaning his elbow against the bar, “Hey, Ellen.”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Got any cases?”

She reached back behind her to take the folder Dean had been eyeing all day, passing it over. “Cow mutilations over in Montana, bodies split open, blood gone and there’ve been a few severed heads on top of that. Could be unrelated, could be our kind of thing. Honestly, I don’t know. From the file, my gut says satanic rituals so I was thinking about sticking this on one of the religious nuts. Maybe Brandon and Mizuki if they aren’t too busy.”

There were several pictures of dead cows and the typical small town incident reports that blamed it on heat stroke and bloating. A few autopsies for the dead bodies as well, but nothing that screamed supernatural. Closing it, he raised his eyebrows and grinned at her. With a roll of her eyes, Ellen pulled two cold mugs out of the ice box and set them down, nodding, “Yes, fine, take it, go, but not until tomorrow and you’ve got chores.”

He put the folder back and gave her a quick salute, “Yes, ma’am, we’ll need the sleep anyway.”

 

*****

 

Sam woke up the next morning to Dean’s side of the bed warm, but empty and the sound of the shower running in the next room. The clock read 7:15 a.m. and he groaned, rolling over and burying his head in Dean’s pillow. It didn’t matter that they’d gone to bed only four hours ago, Dean had said they needed to get an early start. Sam knew why, too, it was punishment for siding with John and making Dean stay in one damn place for so long. Usually, they were hard pressed to pry Dean out of bed before noon, hunt or not.

The shower cut off and he took another deep breath and imagined Dean in the bathroom, toweling water off his naked body. With a muffled moan, he moved his hand under the covers, rubbing his palm over his stiff cock.

It had been a solid three weeks since they’d had sex. Not that Dean hadn’t wanted to, but since that first morning, when Sam woke up with Dean’s mouth on his cock and Ellen had questioned Dean about the noises coming from their room, trying to get him to open up about their relationship, Sam wasn’t taking that chance again. It was nice that she knew. It was nice that she approved, or near enough, but that wasn’t necessarily an invitation to fuck like rabbits.

Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t masturbate. He opened one eyes and looked at the bedroom door, cracked open to the hallway and, most likely, Dean’s way of ensuring that Sam had to actually get out of bed, rather than just jerk off and fall back asleep. Damn, his brother knew him too well.

He’d just sat up and shoved the covers aside when he heard the sound of Jo’s door opening at the other end of the small hallway. Her footsteps shuffled along the scarred wooden floor and she yawned loudly as she slammed her fist against the bathroom door. “Dean, you’ve been in there twenty minutes. What the hell are you doing?”

There was a long pause before Dean answered, “Nothing?”

Sam chuckled and stood up, stretching languorously. His muscles ached from the abbreviated night’s sleep and his head felt foggy. Oh, well, he could always get some sleep in the car. It was a good eleven hours to Montana, anyway, and it wasn’t like Dean was going to let him drive.

From the hallway, he heard Jo sigh and continue talking through the door. “You’re having sex aren’t you?”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat and he rushed for the door, opening it fully just in time to see Jo turn her back to him and yell out to the rest of the house. “Mom! Sam and Dean are fucking in the bathroom and I have to pee!”

A choked noise escaped Sam’s throat and Jo spun around, stopping short when she saw him. Ellen poked her head through the archway separating the dining room from the bedrooms. “Joanna Beth, you watch your mouth. Dean wrap a towel around it and get out, there’s only one damn bathroom in the house and you know better than to hog it. Sam, honey, put some pants on.”

Sam closed his eyes, but it was too late. Jo knocked on the bathroom door again, yelling, “Dean, Sam has something for ya,” with a broad smirk on her face that didn’t falter, even when Ellen smacked her upside the back of her head.

Great. Just... perfect. His hands itched for something to throw at her, but there was nothing at hand and she was still smirking, one eyebrow raised, taking him in like he was a drink or something and that was just disturbing. At least his erection was wilting at the attention. Fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at her, he slammed the door and went to the dresser, pulling out a pair of clean jeans.

Outside the room, he heard Dean come out of the bathroom and quickly pulled his long sleeved shirt on before the door opened. Dean kicked it shut behind him and Sam tried very hard not to be obvious as he scoped him out - hair ruffled from the towel and still wet, body red and slick from the steaming hot water, hand holding the towel around his hips and, God, he was so hard up it physically hurt. Not that he was going to admit it. As long as Dean thought Sam was an impenetrable fortress of self control, Sam’s ethics weren’t in any real danger. If Dean got even a hint of how desperately Sam wanted it... well, rules be damned, Sam would be on his back on the goddamned kitchen table if that’s what it took.

Clearing his throat, Sam pulled on a t-shirt and one of his button ups. Dean leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, “Like what you see?”

“You know I do.” That’s right, play it off, because it wasn’t as if Dean couldn’t see through him like a two way mirror.

Dean’s fingers shifted against the towel, not letting it go, but not tightening and Sam fought the urge to fall to his knees and beg Dean to let him suck him. One hour. One goddamned hour and they’d be on the road. Dean’s thumb dipped along his hip bone and under the knot of thin fabric, drawing Sam’s attention there, and he breathed in sharply. “I...” _Think, think, think._ “Breakfast!”

With a crooked smile, Dean raised one inquisitive, “What about it?”

Sam pulled the door open, “It’s, um... I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry, Sammy.” And from the way Dean let the towel fall a little, exposing the barest hint of dark pubic hair, Sam knew he wasn’t talking about food.

“I’ll just...” Nodding to himself, Sam all but ran out the door, nearly knocking Jo over, who had just come out of the bathroom. “Sorry! Sorry, I was just... omelettes. Ten minutes.”

Dean chuckled to himself and wandered to the dresser, not bothering to close the door as he pulled his boxers on, even though he could see Jo leaning against the doorframe out of the corner of his eye. Wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen. “You pickin’ on Sam again?”

He shrugged, “Maybe. Nice touch with the alarm, by the way, but I’m on to you.”

It had taken him twenty minutes, but he’d finally figured out that she’d rigged the alarm on his phone to go off two in the morning to Berlin’s Sex.

“Thought you might like it.” Jo stretched up, her night shirt riding up to the top of her thighs. “You know, if you’re going to tease him like that, you could at least put out, like, once a week or something.”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself there, darlin’, I put out. It’s Sam’s got the hang-up.”

Jo opened her mouth to say something and closed it, her brow knitted in confusion, “Wait, you’re saying that Sam is the one that doesn’t want to... _Sam_?”

“Yes, Sam, my brother, the one that just ran out of here like his ass was on fire.” He considered asking her what the problem was, but he figured he already knew. Jo had gone to bed around the same time they had and while Dean had the excitement of an impending hunt to keep him going, she was probably just plain old exhausted.

“Huh. ‘Cause the way I remember it, you were the one that turned tail and ran just about every time my hand got near your pants and Sam was the one...” She clammed up suddenly, her face going white, then red.

Dean’s mind blanked at the implication and he stopped moving, shirt half on and bunched up around his arms. “You what?”

“Nothing.” She shifted with an awkward grimace on her face and moved further into the room, sitting on the bed.

“Did you sleep with Sam?”

“No!”

There was enough disgust in her voice to convince Dean that she was telling truth, but that left the bigger question of, “Who did?”

Jo leveled him with a hard, embarrassed look. “Let’s just say that you and I weren’t the only ones Mom caught behind the weapon’s shed.”

“Who?”

“Sorry, Dean. What happens with Sam Winchester, stays with Sam Winchester. So sayeth the coalition of people who don’t want to be murdered by _you_. But that’s not why I came in here.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at her, “I’m not letting this go.”

“Yes, you are, because I’m not telling and if you ask Sam about it, he’ll distract you and don’t think I don’t remember how easy you are to distract.” Dean huffed and she gave him a coy smile. “It may have been bumpy getting started, but the few times I actually managed to touch your dick, you just about fell to your knees.”

“Excuse me for being a normal, horny, twenty year old.”

“You’re excused.” He shot her an annoyed frown, but she was smiling her usual bright, overconfident, self-assured smile that took up half her face and made Dean want to ruffle her hair more than kick her ass. Instead, he tossed a dirty shirt at her and she dodged it, laughing openly as she threw it back for him to stuff in the bag next to the dresser.

A few minutes of comfortable silence followed, in which Dean managed to get dressed and start packing. The sounds of eggs cracking and a beater hitting the side of a glass bowl filtered in through the open doorways from the kitchen. The sizzle of butter hitting a hot pan made Dean’s stomach cramp up and remind him that he hadn’t eaten since early yesterday evening.

Jo pushed back further on the bed, crossing her legs and pushing the hem of her shirt down between them. “Seriously, though, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

He didn’t answer her, but he didn’t have to. It was one of those things left over from their relationship, the established truth that just because Dean didn’t say anything, didn’t mean he wasn’t listening.

“I know mom doesn’t want me hunting, but I thought maybe you could...”

“No way.” Dean slammed his dresser drawer a little harder than necessary and he knew she’d flinched, but damnit, this wasn’t fair of her.

“Dean...”

“Don’t put me there, Jo.” He choked up a little, half turned to look at her, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say. _She’s the closest thing to a mother I’ve had since four? You’re like my sister? Don’t make me choose between the two of you? Don’t make me take sides in a fight that I have no business being in?_

“You know I can hunt, Dean.”

 

He stood up, zipping his bag and moving on to Sam’s side, haphazardly throwing things in. “I don’t know that, Jo.”

Her feet thudding on the ground as she stood. “I trained with the same people you did.”

The heat at his back told him she was standing close and he turned around, looking down at her sternly. “You’ve never been out hunting with anyone. You can’t just go trouncing into something without help.”

“Then help me.”

“No.”

Despite being shorter than him, Jo had inherited Ellen’s ability to feel taller than she was. She could stand on her toes, still barely coming up to his chin and he felt like she was towering over him. He grit his teeth to keep from answering and was just about to make a run for it when Sam came around the corner, egg covered spatula in hand. “Hey, you two, breakfast is...”

He just managed to move aside as Jo turned and stalked off, slamming her door behind her. Sam stared at the door for a second before looked back at Dean, who still had his back pressed against the dresser. “What was that about?”

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t trust Sam with it - actually, if anyone could talk sense into Ellen, it was Sam, with those puppy dog eyes and his logic - it was that Dean didn’t want to deal with this. Period. Not right now, anyway. He’d deal with it later, preferably when it wasn’t an issue.

However, there was something that he did need to deal with. Dean turned on Sam and slammed a hand down on the dresser, palm flat against the particle board. “What happens with Sam Winchester, stays with Sam Winchester?”

Sam turned an interesting shade of red and hunched in on himself, saying, “Eggs are done,” before turning around and hurrying off. Oh yeah, he was so getting to the bottom of that.

 

*****

 

It was 62 degrees and sunny with an occasional breeze sweeping through the open plains. The Impala was parked behind a familiar cluster of trees behind the ‘Welcome to Dunning’ sign. The front doors were open, the music was a low rumble in the background and Dean’s hand was down Sam’s pants for the first time in weeks.

Sam raked his fingers through Dean’s short hair and Dean nipped at Sam’s lip, relishing the puff of air against his mouth. He moved his leg over Sam’s to straddle him and slowly worked the length of Sam’s cock. He’d wanted to bend him over the hood, but they’d ended up leaving at noon and, besides, after three friggin’ weeks of celibacy, he wasn’t going to last that long.

Moving his mouth lower, he bit at Sam’s neck and was rewarded with deep throated moans and hips pressing more firmly against his. Sam hand move from Dean’s head to his jeans and there was frantic tugging as Sam opened the zipper, pulling Dean’s cock out, before leaning further back, making Dean fall forward a little.

A few fumbled moments later and Dean was pretty sure he had a bruise on his lower back in the shape of the music dial and his head could have done without being slammed into the top of the car, but Sam’s jeans were around his knees and he was hunched down in his seat with one hand wrapped around both their cocks. It didn’t even take a full minute before they came, but it was the best damn minute Dean’d had in what felt like a long time.

Dropping onto the seat next to Sam, Dean tucked himself back into his pants, but didn’t bother zipping up, because that would have taken too much effort.

Sam chuckled, jeans still around his knees and making no discernable effort to rectify the situation. “So, you serious about that hunt in Montana, or were you just trying to get me out of the house?”

Dean zipped up. “I don’t joke about hunting.”

“Really? I’ve got a clown suit in the closet that says otherwise.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother responding while Sam pulled his pants up and wiped cum off his hands onto a dirty shirt before throwing it in the back. “Hand over the file.”

Dean turned up the music and got the Impala on the road while Sam went over the details. A few minutes later, he heard a soft snore and looked over to see Sam leaned up against the window, file folder open in his lap. He chuckled to himself and settled back in his seat, enjoying the familiar smell and feel of the open road and the stiff leather seats. He’d admitted to Sam, and meant it, when he’d said the Roadhouse was home, but the Impala… The Impala was his. Well, his and Sam’s, anyway, and that made it even better.

Turning the volume on the radio up a few notches, he softly tapped his hands on the steering wheel to the beat of Seek and Destroy, steeling another glance at Sam before settling his eyes on the road and letting the tension of the past few months bleed out of him.

 

*****

 

Ten hours and three pit stops later, Dean pulled into Red Lodge, Montana. Like most of the motels they stayed at, it was one story, half run down, and Dean could put money on the ice machine being broken, but it had what appeared to be a working soda machine, and that meant it met his criteria.

Pulling up, he hopped out and sauntered into the lobby, careful to avoid the roach that scurried across the burnt orange shag carpet that was a genuine artifact from the seventies, stomped down to a hard mesh over the past thirty some odd years. The kid behind the counter wasn’t more than a gangly teenager reading a magazine or comic or something else large and flimsy. His feet were propped on the counter and he didn’t bother to look up when the door clanked against the broken bell hanging over it.

Dean finishing the perilous twenty foot trek across the lobby without any more signs of insect infestation and nodded amiably at the clerk. “Hey.”

The kid flipped the page, still not looking up. “Sixty for the night, Two Eighty for the week.”

“One night.” Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a credit card. The boy took it, swiped the card, pressed a few buttons, tore off the paper and handed Dean a pen, all without taking his eyes off what Dean was now sure was a comic. Didn’t ask for ID either, not that many of these places did and sometimes it made Dean wonder why he bothered making them.

As soon as Dean had passed over the signed receipt, a key was slapped down in front of him. “Room four, two doors down. Ice machine’s broken, hot water works most of the time - odds are better later in the morning. Check out or pay up by eleven tomorrow.”

Dean picked up the key, closing his fist around it. “Got it. Thanks.”

Outside, Sam had already popped the trunk, grabbing their two duffels of clothes and their business suits, neatly folded in plastic. Dean tossed him the key, “Room four.” Then pulled out the bag of arsenal and dragged it in after. The room itself wasn’t bad - cleaner than the lobby and certainly not as colorful as most of the places they stayed - less of an assault to the eyes, more of a nod to neutral.

Kicking the door shut behind him, he dropped the bag to the side of the door and reached back, clicking the lock shut quietly.

Sam was already unwrapping the suits when Dean came up behind him, his hands finding the familiar purchase on Sam’s hips, just over the low slung waist of his jeans. Sam chuckled and half looked back, “I thought we had a case.”

Dean slid one hand forward, rubbing his palm against Sam’s already stiffened cock and Sam bit his lip, holding his breath a moment before deliberately letting a low moan out. Dean rewarded him by undoing the top button of his jeans and slipped his hand in, wrapping his fingers around Sam’s erection.

“God…”

“You can call me Dean.”

Sam chuckled and then moaned again as the hand tightened, stroking him. “Three fucking weeks. I can’t even think straight.”

“Yeah?” Dean scraped his teeth against the back of Sam’s neck and felt the shudder that ran down his brother’s spine. Sam had this thing about biting. Dean wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with the vampires, but he figured vampires, biting, there had to be a connection. What Dean did know was that Sam liked being bitten. Not hard enough to draw blood, but just that side of painful and especially over pulse points. It made Sam’s knees give out like one of those girls in the romance novels Jo used to read. Nipping a little harder, he was rewarded with a deep throated moan. “Good thing I don’t really need you thinking then.”

Taking his hand out of Sam’s pants, he put it on his back, gently pushing him down so he folded over, palms on the bed, his knees slightly bent. Tugging down Sam’s pants was easy, as baggy as he wore them, and Dean couldn’t say he was complaining.

Thing was, it wasn’t like they hadn’t gone three weeks before, more than that on a couple of occasions, because sometimes they got hurt. Sometimes one of them sprained or broke something. Sometimes they got a knife wound or that one time a lucky bullet found Dean’s shoulder. And when that happened, they had to go back to the Roadhouse and lick their wounds until they were back in shape to Hunt.

So, holding out wasn’t anything new, holding out when they were sleeping in the same bed together was. Holding out when Dean woke up with morning wood and Sam was just inches from him was. Holding out when he had to feel the press of Sam’s naked legs against his when they laid down to sleep every night was and damnit, Dean was only human.

He reached under Sam’s shirt and dragged his nails over the bent spine with just enough pressure to leave satisfying, pale red lines along either side and Sam arched his back like a goddamn cat in heat, breathing hard and heavy and, fuck, Dean wasn’t going to last more than five minutes once he got in there.

Gripping the top of his brother’s jeans, he pulled them slowly over his ass and down his legs, kneeling down as Sam stepped out of them. Before he could even nudge them, Sam’s knee was on the bed, his legs spread apart and open and Dean smiled, leaning forward to run a tongue up the ridge of Sam’s ass to base of his spine.

With a last drag of teeth over the top of Sam’s ass, Dean shucked his own pants, tugged his shirt off over his head and reached into the bag to Sam’s left, fishing out the lube with the ease of practice.

It had been a year, over a year, actually, since Jess had died and Sam had shown up at the Roadhouse. Over a year since they’d been sitting in a dirty basement, in cages too far apart to even touch and Sam had spilled his dirty little secret. He loved Dean. He wanted Dean. He’d always wanted Dean and Dean thought maybe, in one way or another, he’d always wanted Sam.

Not always like this, of course.

He slicked his cock and slowly slid it in, taking deep, steadying breaths to keep from coming.

There hadn’t ever been a time before when he wanted this, but he’d wanted Sam’s closeness. He’d wanted Sam’s presence and when they’d kissed that first time, it had been about testing the waters. He’d thrown himself into it with a half-assed notion to test it out, because, what the hell – he’d done worse with people he didn’t even know – and then it had been good. The kiss had been entirely unlike anything Dean had ever even thought a kiss was supposed to be and he’d thought, okay, if the kiss wasn’t bad they’d take it a step further and a step further until Dean didn’t remember what he’d been afraid of in the first place.

Sam pushed back against him, matching his rhythm and Dean dug his fingers into Sam’s hips before leaning forward, bracing himself on the bed with one hand and using the other to pull Sam off and when Sam was little more than a shuddering mess under him, he let go, collapsing on Sam.

For a minute they lay there, panting, then Sam pushed him off and Dean wanted to protest, but they were both sweating and needed a shower and, besides, Sam was kissing him and Ellen always said it was rude to talk with your mouth full.

 

*****

 

“Poor girl.”

Sam looked down at the head in the plastic bin and said a silent thank you to himself for skipping lunch. He’d seen a hell of a lot of bodies in the past, but most of them were creatures. They might have looked human, but they weren’t. This was some local girl. She had a reputation for keeping her head down, showing up to work on time, and was generally well liked by all accounts.

Then Dean said, “Maybe we should look in her mouth, you know, see if this wacko shoved anything down her throat. Kind of like the moth in Silence of the Lambs?”

Sam raised an eyebrow and shoved the bin around to face Dean. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.” _I dare you_ , but with an undertone of uneasy disgust.

The bin was suddenly facing him again and Dean was looking down at the table. “No, you go head.”

“What?!”

Dean did look up then and there was a sadistic little smirk on his face. “Come on, man. Put the lotion in the basket.”

Sam considered protesting but he knew Dean well enough to spot a self defense mechanism when he saw one. “Yeah, right, I’m the wuss, huh? Y… whatever.”

Taking a deep breath, he reached down, focusing just to the left of her head while he probed her mouth. His stomach turned dangerously, “Dean, get me a bucket.”

“Why, you find something?” And did he really have to sound that excited?

“No, I’m gonna puke.”

Dean huffed, but turned his attention back at the disembodied head. “Wait.” Sam pulled his fingers out and looked over at his brother, but Dean was focused firmly on the head now, all traces of impending illness gone, replaced with a serious frown in his eyebrows, “Lift her lip up again.”

“What, you want me to throw up, is that it?” Pranks were one thing, but this was a person.

Dean shouldered him aside and reached in himself, pulling the lip up and Sam’s entire body went cold as a fang popped out of the gums. Vampires. He backed up several steps without even realizing he’d moved, but Dean was already there, tossing his gloves in the waste bin. “Come on, Sammy, we’re getting out of here.” He didn’t realize he’d put a hand over the faded bite marks until Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him along.

 

*****

 

Dean paced the room while Sam sat on the bed trying to think through the persistent, panicked chant of ‘ _vampires, vampires, vampires_ ’ running through his head.

Stopping, Dean pointed at Sam and took several breaths before talking and if his voice shook just a little, Sam ignored it. “We gotta think about this logically, okay, because… because that thing was dead, right? So, that means something killed it.”

“Right, two severed heads. There were two.”

“So, two vampires maybe and if something’s killing vampires then it’s probably a hunter.”

_Vampires. Vampires._

Sam clamped down on his arm like he was muffling his thoughts. “But there are never just two. Vampires are pack animals, Dean, they hunt alone sometimes, but they live in nests. If there were two, then there are more.”

“Right.” Dean paced again and Sam knew it was irrational. They had years more experience than when they were kids and this time they weren’t going to be taken by surprise. That didn’t make it better, though. It didn’t stop Sam from feeling teeth sinking into him or the hands holding him down while they did it. It didn’t stop him from hearing the phantom cat calls in his head of them taunting him.

“Dean…”

“I know, okay, just… let me think.” He glanced at the window and Sam knew they were both thinking the same thing. It was night out. After their run in a year ago, Bobby had filled them in on vampire marks and the after affects, according to the few survivors. The mark itself was dead, no way was anyone going to be able to track Sam using it, but it left a kind of scent that Vampires would be able to smell in close enough proximity, the kind that said someone had wanted him, but hadn’t gotten him and that was going to make him really, really attractive to them. Or, as Bobby had put it, “You two walk into a room together and Dean over there, he’s gonna be a burger, plane and dry – tasty, but nothin’ special. Sam, on the other hand? You’re gonna smell like a double bacon cheese burger with onion rings on the side and they are you gonna smell you coming about half a mile away.”

He’d assured them that over time it would fade to nothing, but with only a year behind them, it would still be pretty strong.

“Okay, Sam, I don’t like this anymore than you do, but we can’t just leave.” Numbly, Sam nodded, really trying not to feel like he was ten. “We just have to make sure that whoever is handling this can do the job. Then we leave.”

“And if they can’t?”

“Then we call Ellen and get someone down here who can, but we can’t leave till it’s handled.”

Finally, Sam nodded and the more in control Dean sounded, the easier it was to breathe.

“Good.” Dean squatted down in front of Sam and put a hand on his knee. “We need to find that hunter. It’s getting dark, we’ll, uh…” he closed his eyes for a second to think and when he opened them, he was nodding to himself, “We hit the bars in an hour. Whoever this guy is, he’s gotten two, so he’s no amateur. Vampires like drinking and that means bars. Place this small, there aren’t likely to be many of those.”

When Sam didn’t say anything right away, Dean hesitated, “Maybe you should stay here.”

Sam shook his head quickly and stood up, nearly knocking Dean on his ass in the process. “No. No, I can handle this, just… give me a minute, okay?”

Dean stood up from his crouch. “You’ve got an hour. I’m gonna sharpen the machetes and get some dead man’s blood.”

 

*****

 

An hour later, they were driving through the town, eyeing the bars. It wasn’t worth going in every one of them. Vampires had a type. They preferred it dirty and rough. That meant nothing in a restaurant, nothing in a hotel, and nothing with a DJ, which left only one.

The Billy Miner Pub. It was small, rustic, the juke box they could hear from outside had a scratchy quality, and the patrons walking in and out were plain clothed workers and country types. It was just the sort of low key establishment vampires would be drawn to.

They parked the car down the street and wordlessly made their way to the bar. The plan was simple, Sam told himself, find the Hunter, shake his or her hand and get the hell out. Or, worst case scenario, they’d find the Hunter, go back to their room and call Ellen for backup. Either way, they weren’t dealing with the vampires, not really, not face to face. He shook his head to himself just before they stepped into the bar. It shouldn’t matter. He was a Hunter. He was trained now. He’d killed things far deadlier than a damn vampire, so it shouldn’t, but it did, because it was vampires and just the word sent something close to panic running through him.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Find the Hunter and get out.

The bar smelled heavily of smoke and alcohol, just like every other bar and just like home. Something in that familiarity made some of the tension bleed out of Sam and he was able to relax and look less like a skittish cat looking for a tree to climb.

Dean sidled up to the bar like he always did, easy and cocky and giving, “How’s it goin’?” Said with that smile that put everyone instantly off guard.

The bartender looked at them, his eyes landing on Dean before flickering almost instantly to Sam and then back at his brother. “Living the dream, what can I get for you?”

“Two beers.”

The bartender turned his back to dig in the freezer and Sam decided to cut to the chase. If he left it to Dean, they’d be standing there for ten minutes playing How About This Weather. “So, we’re looking for someone.”

The man stood, popping the tabs off the beers before handing them over, eyes on Sam. “Sure, it’s hard to be lonely.”

Sam couldn’t help the half smile, if only because of the surprised, half jealous quirk of Dean’s eyebrows at the comment.

Pulling out a fifty, he clenched it between his finger, “Yeah, but um, that’s not what I meant.”

Holding it up, he waited for the bartender to take another look over at Dean before taking the bill, shoving it in his pocket.

“We’re looking for someone, maybe two someone’s. They would have rolled in sometime in the last two weeks. Loner type, spends a lot of time in bars.”

Dean finished his first swig of beer and chimed in. “Rough around the edges, out at night a lot, but you wouldn’t see much of ‘em during the day.”

The bartender thought for a moment, “There have been a few loners through here recently. A young woman took a room at the Super 8, an older guy started a few days ago at the mill, and that...” He started to point behind them and stopped, “huh.”

Sam looked back, but didn’t see anyone. “What?”

“Nothing, just, guy in his late thirties maybe early forties, dark skin. He was sitting right over there when you walked in.”

Sam and Dean looked at the table together and exchanged a glance. Drink not even half finished, cigarette still burning in the ash tray. Dean took another gulp of his beer and set it down, “Thanks.”

 

*****

 

Gordon Walker was one of Ellen’s armada. She generally referred to him as a walking, talking example of what not to become. Even John, who had abandoned Sam and Dean without a word, was better company than Gordon. At least John gave half a fuck about whoever he was hunting with. Gordon cared about one thing and one thing only. The hunt and his particular hunt was killing vampires.

According to Ellen, one had killed his sister and he’d been on a tear ever since. Vampires were evil, he killed them and he wasn’t watching your back while he did it. It made Dean wonder what the hell Ellen had on him that made him jump and run whenever she called.

Either way, the boys knew he was good, but they also knew he was cocky. If Gordon was in town, he was working alone and the idea that he thought he could take an entire nest out on his own was… well, it was _Gordon_ , was what it was.

Dodging around the back of the building, they ducked behind a corner and waited. The other thing Gordon liked, besides killing vampires, was testing people. He’d gotten the drop on Sam and Dean at the Roadhouse a few times, but always from a safe distance, especially after the first time he’d managed to catch Dean completely off guard and ended up with a dislocated knee that he almost hadn’t been able to feel over the fire in his crotch.

Dean still looked at that as one of his fonder early memories of the Roadhouse - Gordon lying on the ground clutching his knee with one hand, his balls with the other, unable to form a coherent curse word. It was the last time anyone tried to sneak up on Dean for any reason. Except Sammy, because Sammy was like an extension of Dean’s own body and Dean always knew when it was Sammy.

After a minute, they saw a dark figure skulk around the corner, looking up and down the alley way and deflating as he realized there was nothing there. The moment he turned his back to walk off, they went for it – Dean with a knife in hand and Sam right beside him, helping to spin Gordon around and pin him to wall, the edge of the blade pressed precariously under his chin.

They glared daggers at each other for several seconds before Gordon broke into a wide grin and Dean relaxed back offering a hand that Gordon quickly took, giving it a firm shake. “Dean and Sam Winchester. It’s been a while.”

Sam hung back. He’d never really gotten on with Gordon, not even as a teacher, but Dean had. Dean had respect for him as a Hunter, especially a Hunter that killed the thing that gave his little Sammy nightmares. Gordon didn’t discourage it, either. He was a loner, but three months downtime and balls that ached for a week aside, he’d also been one of the first to offer to teach Dean a few things.

“What are you boys doing past the state line? Last I heard you were holed up at the Roadhouse waiting for John to get up and running.”

Dean gave Gordon a tense smile that clearly said it was none of his business, even if he was responding. “Yeah, well, the old man went and got himself shot.”

“No shit?”

“Bobby did warn him.” Gordon laughed out loud and Dean’s smile eased up a bit. “Look, we came here on a case of cow mutilations and beheadings, figured out it was a fang at the morgue. We decided we’d better make sure whoever it was could handle himself.”

Gordon motioned for them to follow him and they trekked back through the alley and down the street to where Gordon had parked his car. He pulled open the back passenger door and slid out his arsenal. It was a veritable smorgasbord of vampire killing devices – machetes and swords of all different sizes, arrows and cross bows, dead man’s blood, a couple of pig stickers and even a flame thrower. Sam had to fight the urge to be impressed.

Dean ran a hand over the back of his neck, eyeing the rack, “That is quite impressive.” Then his gaze shifted to Sam for a moment and Sam knew he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “Hey, you mind if we tag along?”

“Now, you boys know I work alone. Don’t get me wrong, Dean, you’re a great Hunter – Sam, too – but I’ve got this one covered. I’ve been on this thing for over a year. I killed a fang back in Austin, tracked the nest all the way up here. I’ll finish it.” The tray slid back into place and Gordon shut the back door to the car. “You know what, though, there’s a Chupacabra two states over, knock yourself out.”

Without waiting for a response, he hopped in his car, leaning out the window and looking back at them, “It was good seeing you again. I’ll buy you a drink on the flip side,” then drove off.

Dean waited till the headlights were out of sight to turn to Sam again, who was already opening his mouth in protest of what he knew Dean was going to say. “Dean…”

“Sam, I’ve got a really bad feeling about this, okay? We’re just gonna tail him for tonight. Nothing happens and we leave in the morning, but it’s one man against an entire nest and I don’t care how good that one man thinks he is, those are still pretty heavy odds.”

“But…”

“Come on, it’s Gordon. We owe him that much.”

They didn’t owe Gordon anything. Except they kind of did, because Sam figured that half the reason Dean and him were still alive was all the stuff the other Hunters taught them and Gordon was one of those Hunters. Then there were the times he’d answered Ellen’s call and pulled Dean’s ass out of a fire or two. So, okay, fine, they owed him.

Deflated, Sam nodded. “Yeah, all right. Promise, though, tomorrow we leave?”

Dean looked up and down the street for a long minute before reaching a hand out and affectionately ruffling Sam’s hair. “Promise, kiddo, first thing in the morning.”

Sam cringed at the familiar endearment from his childhood, but figured he’d kind of earned it acting like a scared ten year old facing the boogie man under his bed. Still… Ducking out from under Dean’s hand, he couldn’t help the uneasy feeling in his stomach as they made their way back to the car.

 

*****

 

Fine, so Dean had been right about Gordon needing the help. They’d come in like the cavalry and pulled his ass out from under a mounted chainsaw and if it hadn’t been for them, Gordon would be just another headless corpse in the morgue.

He still didn’t like it. He especially hadn’t liked the look in Dean’s eyes when he pinned that vampire to the board and brought the saw down. Sure, he understood it. Dean saw that vampire attack all those years back as the culmination of everything he’d done wrong. So, Sam could imagine it felt pretty good to drag that blade down and watch the body give that final twitch.

Understanding aside, though, he still didn’t like it and he especially didn’t like the dark cloud of self-satisfied victory that fell over his brother’s face after or the approving smile Gordon had given Dean.

Gordon raised the shot glass, “Another one bites the dust.”

“That’s right.” They both tipped their glasses back and Sam tried not to be annoyed at how proud Dean looked with himself. He shouldn’t have been annoyed, a vampire was just another supernatural son of a bitch and Dean had put it down, just like they did all the others. Hell, more than the others, this should have been a relief. So, maybe it wasn’t about the vampires, maybe it was about Gordon. Except he already knew all about Gordon and the unease that was rolling around his gut was more about something he was missing.

Gordon set the shot glass down a little more firmly than necessary, “Dean,” then looked at the empty glass for a moment before chuckling to himself. “You gave that big ass fang one hell of a haircut, my friend.”

Dean perked up a little at the word friend, “Thank you.”

“That was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.”

Dean picked up his beer and glanced at Sam, seeming to only now notice his brother’s sullen expression and slouched shoulders. Sam knew better, Dean had been watching him since the docks, he just hadn’t said anything. It was Dean’s defense mechanism, tried and true – wait it out and see if it’s still a problem in a couple hours, then poke at it and wait a few days to see if it’s festered.

“You all right, Sammy?

Sam shifted his gaze to Dean and pursed his mouth tightly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Gordon looked at him then and gave him that easy smile he gave everyone, the one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Lighten up a little, Sammy.”

“He’s the only one who gets to call me that.” And the look Dean gave him for that, one raised eyebrow and thinned out lips, said he’d be getting PMS jokes later, maybe a tampon under his pillow if Dean was feeling viscous enough.

“Okay, no offense man, just celebrating a little. Job well done.” Holding out his hands in a gesture of surrender, Gordon continued the smile and Sam didn’t have to ask if Dean saw what Sam saw in it, but he wasn’t sure if Dean really cared and that was just as bad.

He needed to get out of there, take a second look at those incident reports and figure out what was he was missing. Pushing back, he stood up from the table. “Look, I’m not gonna bring you guys down. I’m heading back to the room.”

Dean looked him up and down a couple times, carefully assessing it, before tossing Sam his key. “Remind me to beat that buzzkill out of you later.”

He rewarded him with a roll of his eyes and slipped his hand down to squeeze Dean’s shoulder before walking out.

 

*****

 

Back in the room, Sam threw his jacket over the chair and sat on the bed, staring at the wall blankly. Funny thing, faced with Dean and Gordon’s bonding, the vampires didn’t seem so bad, after all. He’d rather deal with blood sucking monsters than Dean sucking up to another Hunter. And it shouldn’t have bothered him, except it did and it wasn’t just that it was Gordon, because Gordon wasn’t great, but he wasn’t anything Sam hadn’t dealt with before.

No, because, push comes to shove, it was the whole situation with John that had him twisted in knots. How the more they hung around John, the more Dean relaxed, took orders. John said stay, they stayed. John said go on out and have a hunt, Dean found a case. And if Sam asked Dean, he’d deny it up and down, but Sam knew better.

Dean hadn’t forgiven John by a long shot, but he was slipping back into things the way they’d been when they were kids. John was their Commander in Chief and Dean was the obedient little soldier, doing what he was told, when he was told to. Only Sam wasn’t up for that and now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really been up for it then either.

Gordon was just exacerbating the situation.

He needed to talk to someone. Picking through his jacket, he came up with his phone and flipped it open, thumbing through the contacts until the blue line lit up ‘Ellen’ on the screen. They hadn’t checked in yet. Even just hearing her familiar, steady voice would probably calm him some at least, but if he called her, he’d have to give her the run down and he wasn’t as good as Dean at bullshitting her. Not that Dean could get anything past Ellen, either, but at least he’d be able to say, “vampires” without his voice shaking like a scared child locked in a cage waiting to be eaten alive by a nightmare he thought he’d left behind.

Cursing, he threw the phone down next to him and clenched fists in his hair. He needed a drink.

The vending machine outside was practically an antique and the selection was shit, but it worked. He gripped the cold can, letting the chill of it numb his fingers almost painfully. The memories of his childhood before John disappeared were vague and jumbled. Most of the time he didn’t bother trying, but with everything that had gone on lately, he’d put a little more effort into it.

He remembered ratty motels, some worse than this, but never anything better. He remembered stiff mattresses and Dean curled up next to him under thin blankets on cold nights, or sprawled half naked over the sheets on warm ones. He remembered public access cartoons that he could barely see through the static.

The most vivid thing he remembered, though, was resenting John and sometimes even Dean for doing what John said.

Popping the tab on the soda, he took a long drink and stopped as he heard a rustle behind him. Looking back with his eyes, he started to put the soda back up to his lips and stopped, waiting for a second, before shaking his head and walking back towards his room.

It wasn’t a long walk. A few steps down the gritty road and around the car, through the joke of a horse fence put up in front of the room. He stopped to look at them and huffed out a small laugh. Dean probably loved those. That was probably why he’d picked this motel in the first place - that and the sign advertising rooms for $60 a night.

His brother really did love a good western. He’d have to remember that in January, maybe buy Dean a pair of spurs, or some chaps for his birthday. Maybe he’d wear the chaps. Dean wasn’t really into kink most of the time, not that Sam hadn’t tried to get him there on multiple occasions, because, despite what he let Dean believe, he wasn’t completely naïve when it came to sex.

He’d been to college. He’d done the rounds of experimenting and dating and casual messing around and maybe he’d never taken it very far, but what he lacked in actual experience, he made up for in hours upon hours of porn and wet dreams.

Jess had found his collection once, cocked her head to the side, holding up an old, half busted cassette titled, ‘Cock Hungry Pool Man.’ He’d stammered over the start of several explanations for nearly a full minute before she’d rolled her eyes and walked past him, slapping the cassette to his chest where he’d caught it awkwardly and given him an amused smile, never mentioning it again.

She hadn’t had to. She’d known him. They’d been friends before going out and if he hadn’t mentioned that he straddled the fence on his own sexuality, she’d probably heard it from one of their many mutual acquaintances and if he knew her like he thought he did, she’d probably gone looking for the tapes, just to see what he’d say.

Taking another long drink from the can, he shook his head and went forward into the room. So, yeah, kink was something Dean wasn’t really into, but Sam figured maybe that would change if he was patient enough, or if he found the right card, like Westerns. He leaned against the closed door and quirked his mouth at the thought of Dean coming into a room to find Sam wearing only chaps and a cowboy hat.

Might work. Might work really well, actually. The only real problem was how to buy the stuff and hide it long enough to surprise Dean with it. The other problem was that Dean was always warning Sam about thinking too much and he was always saying things like, “Dude, if you don’t get your head out of your ass and start paying attention, you’re gonna get us both killed.”

His only consolation, really, as the familiar chime of a phone hitting something coalesced with the sharp, blinding pain of something hard hitting him upside the head was that at least it wasn’t both of them.


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Vampires._

Sam didn’t so much drift into consciousness as his brain snapped like an over-tightened rubber band from blissfully unconscious to fully fucking aware and what he was aware of was that he was sitting in a chair with a bag over his head, gag through his mouth, and ropes digging painfully into his chest, arms and legs.

  _Vampires_

He should have been more careful. He should have been more aware. God, he should have thought about this before walking around the hotel parking lot alone smelling like a double bacon cheeseburger and that particular metaphor really wasn’t helping. Why couldn’t Bobby have chosen something a little less food related?

The bag was yanked roughly off his head and he flinched back, from the light and from the thing standing in front of him, fangs out, eyes narrowed angrily. It leaned forward and Sam was really glad he was gagged, because the scream pressing against the back of his throat probably sounded something like a twelve year old girl and if he was going to be killed by a vampire, he’d rather go down with at least some of his dignity in tact.

“Wait! Step back, Ely.”

Yes, please, step the fuck back so he could breathe.

Despite the command, Sam honestly hadn’t expected the vampire to move away, let alone retract his fangs. He could hear his own breath around the gag, tight and desperate. _Breathe. Breathe._    With the teeth no longer inches from his face, Sam found his footing. Think. Just think, because he wasn’t ten years old. He wasn’t some scared little kid surrounded by an entire nest of vampires. He was a hunter, trained and tested and if he could get out of the retrained, he could maybe win, or at least go down fighting. He knew how to kill them and there weren’t that many. Actually, now that he looked around, there were only two – Ely and the woman who’d spoken.

She was standing in an archway a safe distance away. With her long black hair over a dark shirt and vest, she looked almost normal, only Sam knew she wasn’t. Vampires didn’t take orders from humans and Ely had more than proven what he was.

“My name’s Lenore, I’m not gonna hurt you.” She stepped forward, sure and confident in her assertions, reaching out to pull the gag from his mouth. Her hands brushed his face and he forced himself to stay still. Don’t move, don’t flinch, don’t show fear. Vampires liked fear, they liked the way it smelled – only, really, Sam didn’t feel the same fluttered panic in his chest he had the last time he saw a vampire, a little over a year ago, huddled in the cage with fire radiating from his mark, sending wave after wave of something too intense to be simple pleasure through his body, but sharp enough to feel like it and Sam hadn’t been able to think past the vampire’s presence in the room.

Lenore didn’t feel like that. Her touching him didn’t make his chest seize up with fear, her being in the room didn’t make it hard to take his eyes his eyes off her. Even Ely, who’d had his teeth right there in Sam’s face, seemed to easily fade into the background.

But that wasn’t right, because she was a vampire and just because she hadn’t marked him, just because she couldn’t assert her claim on him, didn’t mean she wasn’t a threat. Except Sam didn’t think the mark had anything to do with it.

“We just need to talk.”

“Talk?” His flicked his eyes back to Ely again, reassuring himself that he knew exactly where the other vampire was. “Yeah, okay, but I have a tough time paying attention to much besides Ely’s teeth.”

She held her head a little higher, like he’d insulted her. “He won’t hurt you. You have my word.”

“Your word?!” He strained against the ropes, because really, his odds pretty much sucked if he was tied down, but if he could get up, if he could get the ropes off, maybe he had a chance. “Oh, yeah, great, thanks. Listen, lady, no offense, you’re not the first vampire I’ve met.”

“That was the point.” Oh great, of course she knew, every vampire in town knew and Sam’s heart did race just a little faster at the reminder of what his blood smelled like to them – at her acknowledgment of that. Lenore continued, ignoring his reaction to her words and he didn’t want to be grateful for that, but he was. “We’re not like the other. We don’t kill humans, we haven’t in years as I’m sure you can tell.”

“What?”

She tilted her head to the side just slightly and stared at him for several long seconds before speaking again, “You were marked.”

Plain and simple, like that mattered, like that answered anything.

“ _Were_ marked.” He returned her stare with his own, his jaw set in the determination not to back down and he was surprised to find that there was fear, but not as much as there should have been. Not until she reached forward with one hand, tracing the outline of the mark through his shirt.

His chest tightened as a sickeningly familiar tingle ran down his spine. The ghost of the memory of what it had felt like, but that wasn’t much better, and there was that panic, just on the other side of his resolve not to flinch away from his nightmare.

After a moment, she pulled her hand away, but didn’t step back. “That doesn’t matter. You felt them, you were with them, you should still know.”

“Know what?” He really needed her to step back, because regardless of his resolve not to show fear, regardless of her ability to look normal, she was still a vampire.

They spent several moments staring silently at each other before Lenore knelt, putting herself level with him as she leaned forward, searching his face and eyes for something. A phantom itch traced up his forearm, but he refused to look away from her, refused to acknowledge that part of him that wanted to crawl away and hide. He could feel her breath on his cheek as her hand crept back over the faded remains of the scars up and down his arm.

_Randall’s dark eyes looking at him, looking into him and he can’t move, because he’s being held still and the feeling of teeth breaking his skin like needles and it hurts like fire, but it’s not all bad, not really. He can feel it pulling at his insides and then it feels good and Randall pulls his teeth back and he’s smiling. “Not nearly so innocent.”_

She tipped her head, looking deeper, her fingers firmer against the inside of his arm.

_Fingers in his hair and the feeling of ownership rolling off the mark, seeping into his skin and he can’t think straight, can’t see past the haze of white hot pleasure and maybe if the fingers would stop tugging softly at his hair, sending little electric shocks straight to his groin he’d be able to breathe. God, he can’t breathe for it and Dean is listening. Dean’s hearing everything he never wanted him to know and Sam can’t even look at him or offer a defense, because all he can feel is owned and it feels good. He doesn’t want it to feel so good. “Filthy little boy.”_

He shut his eyes against the memories and when he opened them again, her eyebrows were drawn together in confusion.

“You don’t know. How long were you with them?”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t there for more than two days, only a few hours after they bit me.”

His voice sounded more strained than he would have liked. He hadn’t had flashes like that since before Stanford, hell, since the first few agonizing months at the Roadhouse when he’d woken screaming in the corner of his room with no memory of how he’d gotten there. Had she done that? She couldn’t have. Vampires couldn’t do that, at least he didn’t think they did, but he doubted it would have been very difficult to read the fear in his face.

She scoffed and looked down at his arm, where her hand still rested, and moved her thumb over the scar. “How long ago?”

“Eleven years.”

She stopped moving and looked back up at him, her face suddenly unnaturally in its stillness. “How old were you?”

“Ten.”

Lenore didn’t move away, but her disapproval was clear in the way her body tensed and she drew her head up higher. “Feeding is one thing, although even for our kind, feeding on a child is… unusual, but a mark is a more…” she faltered for a moment, searching for the right words, “intimate bond. I can’t remember the last time someone marked a prepubescent child.”

It was several long minutes before Lenore spoke again and when she did, she stood, taking her hand off his arm, “I apologize for the way you were acquired, but we took you because we thought you would be the most agreeable to what we have to say.”

“Which is?” He still sounded small, but more level and that was one tiny little step across a whole ravine of issues this was bringing up for him and that ravine was about to get a lot bigger.

 

*****

 

“This is the best pattern I can establish.” Dean hunkered down over the map Gordon has set on the table and tried to concentrate on what the other Hunter was saying. “It’s sketchy at best.”

Sketchy, but definitely a pattern and where the hell was Sam? It had been hours since he’d left them at the bar, over twenty minutes since Gordon and Dean had made it back to the room, looking to collaborate on the job.

Gordon was looking at him expectantly, so Dean knit his brows, focusing on the marks and doing what worked best on Gordon – stating the obvious. “Looks like it’s all coming from this side of town. Which means the nest will be around here someplace, right?”

“Yup, that’s what I’m thinking. Problem is there’s thirty five, forty farms out there. I’ve searched about half of them already, but nothing yet. They’re covering their tracks real good.”

“I guess we’ll just have to search the other half.” Fuck pretenses, it had been _hours_. Sam should have called or texted by now. Dean looked at the window then down at his watch, “What time is it? Where’s Sam?”

Saying it out loud sent a familiar ache into the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it down. Still too early to get worried. Sam wasn’t a kid anymore, he was a grown man. If he wanted to take off, he could. Didn’t mean Dean had to like it. Didn’t mean he couldn’t worry like hell about it.

Gordon followed Dean’s gaze, now back at the parking lot where the Impala sat just outside the door. “Car’s still there.   Probably went for a walk. He is the take-a-walk type.”

“Yeah, he is but…” _…but not without me. Not without telling me. Not without…_

Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by the door opening behind him and the relief that washed over Dean was wiped away by the look he saw on Sam’s face. Haunted, dazed, confused, it was a jumble of not right and every instinct Dean had said to grab Sam and bring him in, sit him on the bed, check him for injuries. Something was wrong, but Gordon was there and as much as he knew they were brothers, he was a smart man and if Dean started running his hands all over Sam like he was desperate to, he’d figure their little secret out real quick.

Instead he settled for looking him up and down, doing a quick check for anything obvious that would explain his absence. Nothing. He was maybe a little more rumpled then when Dean had last seen him, but that was it. “Where you been?”

Sam swallowed thickly, keeping his eye contact with Dean, not even looking at Gordon, like he didn’t exist and that was entirely unsettling. Even more so when Dean noticed Sam’s hand rubbing against his forearm distractedly.

“Can I talk to you alone?”

This was more than another ‘I don’t like Gordon,’ talk. This was something else and Dean got the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like it. He turned back to Gordon, doing his best to hide his anxiousness behind nonchalance. “Mind chillin’ out for a couple minutes?”

Gordon shook his head wordlessly and Dean stood up, following Sam out the door with his hands already shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, because otherwise, he was gonna grab that arm Sam wouldn’t stop rubbing and make sure it wasn’t what he was afraid it was.

Sam looked at Dean for a moment as the door closed, but didn’t say anything right away.   Dean waited, trying to be patient and getting close to failing, because Sam wasn’t making eye contact anymore and that couldn’t be good. Sam started down the stairs and Dean almost couldn’t believe what he heard next.

“Dean, maybe we gotta rethink this hunt.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Sam looked at him, nervousness clear in his furrowed brow. “Where were you?”

Sam stopped and gave a small, nervous smile. “In the nest.”

Dean’s hands moved faster than his thought and Sam’s arm was stretched out and his shirt pushed back before Dean even realized what he was doing, but the faded scar of the mark was all that was there, except maybe some chaffing on Sam’s wrists and if those fuckers tied up his brother, they were going to die for that alone.

“Dean, I know what you’re thinking.”

“Did they bite you?” He kept his voice low and leaned in close. At the shake of Sam’s head, Dean breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Where’d they take you?”

“I was blindfolded, I don’t know.” He pushed the sleeve of his shirt back down.

“You gotta know something.“

“We went over that bridge outside of town, but, Dean, listen, maybe we shouldn’t go after them.”

The words, ‘are you stupid?’ stuck in his throat, because Sam had that determined look on his face, like he really believed what he saying and Dean knew that look. “Why not?”

“I don’t think they’re like other vampires.” Dean tried not to look indignant, but felt his eyebrows rise despite his best efforts. “I don’t think they’re killing people.”

“You’re joking.” It had to be, because that was the only logical explanation for this.

Only Sam wasn’t backing down, just pressing his lips together, holding Dean’s eye contact in a way that said everything. He really believed that. Honestly, deep down, believed that they weren’t killing people and they shouldn’t gank them.

“Then how do they stay alive?! Or undead, or whatever the hell they are.”

“The cattle mutilations. They said they live off of animal blood.”

“And you believed ‘em?” Because Sam believing anything a vampire said was just too much. When they were done having this conversation, Dean was tying his brother to the motel bed until he remembered who he was and what they did.

Sam held out his arms confidently in the face of Dean’s obvious skepticism. “Look at me, Dean. They let me go without a scratch. Remember what Bobby said? To them you smell like a hamburger, but me?”

“You’re a double bacon cheese burger with a side of onion rings. Yeah, I remember. Hard to forget.” Dean hadn’t been able to eat a burger for a week. Every time he saw one, he thought of a ten-year-old Sammy alone in the woods with a neon sign hanging over his head.

So, why had they let him go? _How_ had they let him go? Because Bobby had made it sound like they wouldn’t be able to control themselves around Sam, but here Sam was, telling him they took him, they talked to him, but never bit him and Dean believed him, because Sam wouldn’t lie about that.

“You sure they were vampires?”

“The teeth in my face were hard to miss.” Dean bristled, “No, look, you killed one of their nest, okay? They weren’t happy about it, but they backed down. They just want to be left alone.”

“No, man…”

Dean tried to read something in Sam’s face that said he was lying – they were being watched, they were being listened to – but there wasn’t anything there. Sam believed this. He really believed these vampires weren’t going to hurt anyone, but Dean knew better. Dean remembered his baby brother lying in a bed with a vampire wrapped around him. Dean remembered washing off the blood crusted mark they’d left and Dean remembered that vampires were evil. They were sons of bitches that deserved to have their heads cut off for even existing.

“No way. I don’t know why they let you go, I don’t really care. We find ‘em, we waste ‘em.”

He didn’t wait for Sam to argue, just turned around and headed back toward the room, but Sam followed him.

“Why?!”

“What part of vampires don’t you understand, Sam?” What part of the thing that haunted Dean every night didn’t Sam understand? More than the men that fucked him, the cocks he sucked and every other dirty little thing that was done to him was the fact that he had failed Sam. That if he’d made that call a year and a half earlier he wouldn’t have had to pull his brother out of a vampire nest, in shock and covered in his own blood. The thought of those teeth sinking into the inside flesh of Sam’s arm was the thing that had woken him up in the middle of the night, sweating for fucking years.

“No, Dean, I can’t… look, man, I can’t explain it, okay?”

“You have to do better then that.”

Sam ran his hands through his hair, looking up for a minute before making eye contact with Dean again, his face set in picture perfect desperation.

“I just know. Lenore said…”

“Who’s Lenore?”

“Their…” There was a moment’s hesitation followed by, “leader?”

“Oh great, so we’re actually trusting the leader of a vampire nest, are we?”

“No!” Then, because they both knew that was a lie. “Yes, I told you, I can’t explain it, but I just know she’s not lying.” Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off. “Never mind that there aren’t any actually bodies that we can tie to them, but when I look at her, I know. She hasn’t had human blood in a long time. There’s something… non-threatening about her? Like I’m afraid, but that’s just the memories and not because of her.”

This was ridiculous. Just because Sam wasn’t threatened by her, he thought that meant they should leave her alone?

“I’m going to that nest. You don’t want to tell me where it is, fine, I’ll find it myself.” He waited a moment, hoping Sam would back down, but he didn’t. He was staring back, just as stubbornly and finally Dean gave a soft huff, turning around and storming back to the room, Sam at his heels, probably intending on trying to talk him out of it again, which wasn’t going to fucking happen, because Gordon was going to be there and Sam would have to keep up appearances…

Except Gordon wasn’t there.

“Gordon?”

Nothing. Not that Dean expected it. He knew Gordon better than that and if he hadn’t been so blinded by his concern for Sam, he might have remembered all those lessons Gordon gave him on how sometimes the best way to get information was to just listen.

“Think he went after them?” Sam looked anxiously around the room, his body tense and ready to run, but not for the same reason Dean wanted to run, not for the right reason. Vampires not being evil. That would be one of the most fucked up things Dean has seen in a long time. Actually, the second most fucked up thing. His dad appearing out of nowhere after eleven years took the cake for the most fucked up thing that would ever happen to him. Ever.

Sam was still looking at him expectantly, so Dean settled for, “Probably.”

“Dude, we have to stop him.” And he meant it. He really meant it.

“Really, Sam, ‘cause I say we lend a hand.”

“Just, give me the benefit of the doubt, would you?”

“We’ll see.” It’s the closest thing he could get to saying Sam was right around the tight ache in his chest at the swell of memories. “I’ll drive, give me the keys.”

Sam started across the room, but stopped short, and as mad as Dean was at Sam for not wanting to kill the son of a bitch vampires, the next thing out of Sam’s mouth practically had him seeing red. “He snaked the keys.”

Gordon was going to pay for that.

 

****

 

He spent the ride – after having to hotwire his baby and the new starter was coming out of Gordon’s ass – running over his conversation with Sam, trying to decide if they’d said anything they wouldn’t want Gordon to hear. They hadn’t mentioned their relationship in any way and Dean was thankful that he’d been paranoid for so long he couldn’t remember any other way to be.

There was one problem, though, he was pretty sure Gordon would know Sam was or had been marked. That didn’t mean he’d try to behead Sam anytime soon, marked was different from turned and Gordon might not like it, but he was a black and white kind of guy and as long Sam hadn’t been fully turned, he was okay.

Bait was another matter. Gordon loved using bait and Sam would draw any vampire within smelling distance and that was a pretty wide stretch the way vampires smelled. He’d have to have words with Gordon. Really long, painful words that would make it very clear Sam wasn’t bait and until the smell wore off, they weren’t hunting with him again. Actually, hunting with him to begin with had never been the plan, so that one would be easy enough as long as Gordon didn’t get any funny ideas and if he did… if he did, Dean wouldn’t even bother putting a call into Ellen, he’d take care of it himself.

The other thing he was thinking about was Sam. It was hard to decide what Sam was thinking, because he hadn’t said a damn word since they left that didn’t involve directions. He was probably plotting his next move in convincing Dean the vampires were okay, even if they both knew there was nothing he could say.

If, by some twist of fate, Sam really could feel something in Lenore through some intangible vampiric link based on his having been marked, that didn’t mean a damn thing. Lenore knew about it, she was the one that told Sam about it, so who was to say she couldn’t manipulate it to make him feel whatever she wanted? Who was to say she wasn’t feeding thoughts and ideas into Sam’s head that weren’t even real?

So, Sam could just stop looking at him that way from across those few feet separating them in the car. He could stop giving him puppy dog eyes and desperate sympathy glances and he could stop sighing and huffing and making all those noises that said he was stopping himself from saying things that wouldn’t make a difference.

By the time they pulled up to the house, both of them were so on edge, they practically leapt out of the car.

It was a quaint little house, Dean gave it that. Granted, he’d only ever seen two other vampire nests, but he’d heard stories, done his research. Vampires usually lived in run down shacks and old barns and anywhere that looked abandoned so no one would come knocking. This wasn’t abandoned. This was well kept with a manicured garden and cute, floral curtains hanging in the windows that were open to let in the afternoon sun.

It was about as un-vampire as a house could get. Hell, it was in better shape then Ellen’s little one story behind the Roadhouse.

Sam started to run for the door, but Dean put his arm out and shook his head, starting at a slow walk. After a moment, Sam took the hint and followed him, tense, but no longer running like someone’s life depended on it. Like a vampire’s life depended on it.

Inside was just as quaint as out, if a little darker. Even the old wallpaper and faded white trim were clean. They rounded the corner of the door into the front room and froze, because Dean didn’t like vampires, but this? This was something else.

The girl, Lenore he figured from the way Sam had bristled, was tied to a chair, her pale skin painted in lines of red where Gordon must have been cutting into her with the knife he still had in his hand, tacky and red with dead man’s blood. Lenore’s eyes were glazed and Dean remembered that look. He’d done that to the bitch he killed after Sammy went missing.

Dead man’s blood had a pretty profound affect on vampires. It poisoned them and made it hard for them to fight, but it didn’t paralyze them completely. Even lashed to the chair as she was, Lenore could have fought. She could have bared her fangs, snarled, growled, acted like Dean had seen vampires act when they were cornered. She wasn’t doing any of that, she was rolling her head back and taking it, groaning deep in her throat with the pain and it made Dean’s world go just a little sideways.

_Maybe Sam was right._

He clenched down on that thought quickly, before it showed in his face.

Gordon had heard them before they even came in, probably heard the car pulling up and recognized the engine rumble, recognized their foot steps, or maybe he just figured they were on their way and took for granted it was them. Actually, probably that last one, because Gordon was a cocky son of a bitch.

“Sam, Dean, come on in.”

Dean tried not to look at Lenore. He tried not to feel anything for the undead bitch tied to a chair, rasping pathetically as the poison worked its way painfully through her system. Tried and failed.

“Gordon. What’s going on?”

“Just poisoning Lenore here with some dead man’s blood. She’s gonna tell us where all her little friends are, aren’t you?” She rolled her eyes to look at him, but didn’t say anything and Dean couldn’t help but remember how mouthy all the vampires he’d met were. Gordon gave a little smile, like a dare. “Wanna help?”

“Look, man…” because this didn’t sit right with him. No matter what she was, this was torture and Dean remembered what that felt like. He remembered what it felt like to be pinned and helpless and wanting it to be over.

Gordon didn’t hear him, or maybe he didn’t say it loud enough. “Grab a knife, I was just about to start in on the fingers.”

The way Gordon dragged the knife over her skin and the way she gasped, it was too familiar. It made Dean’s stomach twist painfully and he made up his mind right there. He didn’t trust her, he didn’t trust Sam’s opinion of her, but this was wrong. It was wrong in so many ways.

“Wow, wow, wow hey let’s all just chill out, huh.”

“I’m completely chill.” Actually, he was too chill. Like he was waiting for something. Sam didn’t see it, though. Whether it was something to do with this strange connection he had to Lenore and apparently all other vampires – and wasn’t that just fucked up, because Dean really had thought they were done with all that when they killed the nest that marked him – or because he was Sam and he always cared, even when he shouldn’t, he wasn’t paying enough attention to what really mattered.

“Gordon put the knife down.”

Gordon had waited for them. He’d been torturing her, sure, but he’d been taking his time. He could have done so much more by now, even in the short head start he had. So what was he waiting for?

“It sounds like Sammy here’s the one that needs to chill.”

Dean’s eyes flickered between them, his thoughts running laps in his head, trying to piece it together, but he could see that Gordon was right. Sam all but bounced on his feet, barely containing the urge to go over there and help her.

“Just step away from her, all right.”

“You’re right. I’m wasting my time here, this bitch’ll never talk.” He pulled out a machete, eyeing its blade lovingly. Gordon wasn’t even looking at Sam anymore. In fact, he was looking anywhere but Sam and, come to that, he’d barely spared Dean a glance since they’d walked in. “Might as well put her out of her misery. I just sharpened it, so it’s completely humane.”

It clicked. Just as Sam lunged forward, carried by anger and something Dean couldn’t understand, announcing, “Gordon, I’m letting her go.” He suddenly knew exactly what Gordon had been waiting for, but he was too late to stop it.

The knife was at Sam’s throat before Dean had even taken the first step forward and Sam stopped, seething at the sudden threat, but unmoving.

For several moments, no one moved, finally, Gordon broke the silence. “Show me the mark, Sammy.”

Sam’s face went ash pale and Dean could hardly breathe. Showing anyone that bite was the Sammy equivalent of asking him to strip naked. Sam wore long sleeves in hundred degree weather to keep that scar to himself and the fact that Gordon had put a knife to his throat before even asking said he knew that. He knew exactly what he was asking and he was asking it anyway.

When Sam didn’t move to comply, Gordon laughed humorlessly, “I always knew there was something off about you. Didn’t know what it was, but there was something. So, tell me, how long have you been marked?”

They exchanged glances and the knife wedged deeper into Sam’s throat, making him tilt his head back, to avoid getting cut.

Dean finally caved, because he didn’t think Sam could, “Before we moved in with Ellen, but it’s gone now. Remember that nest you guys pulled us from a year ago? That was them, they caught up with us, but you killed them, so the mark’s gone.”

“Let me see it.”

“Sammy, show him.” Finally, Sam moved, shoving his sleeve up his arm and holding it out for Gordon to see. The mark was just a faded ring of puncture marks, pale and white against Sam’s skin. “You happy now?”

Before either of them could react, Gordon grabbed Sam’s arm and sliced a thin gash across the mark. Sam gripped the arm up higher and Dean moved forward pulling his gun, but the knife was back at Sam’s throat almost instantly.

Dean seethed behind the gun, keeping it level with Gordon’s head, wishing he could pull the trigger, but this was Gordon. Bastard that he was, he was still a Hunter and Dean had to at least give him a chance. “Let him go.”

“You know, I’ve been following them for a year now and, you’re right, they haven’t killed anyone, but they will. Eventually, they always do, because they aren’t human. They don’t feel like we do. But it seems Sammy here needs a little reminder of that.”

There was panic in Sam’s face and it was a goddamned miracle he didn’t cut his own neck on the knife as Gordon dragged him the few agonizing steps to where Lenore was tied to the chair, blood dripping slowly down his arm as he forced the cut over her face.

The affect was instantaneous. Lenore’s teeth were out almost immediately and the fear in Sam’s face as he watched his blood drip into her mouth made Dean’s entire body freeze in anger. Sam had stopped moving altogether, caught in his own head watching her teeth and his blood and Gordon was going to pay for that. Forget him steeling the keys to the Impala and making Dean hotwire his own car, he’d just fed Sammy to a vampire and no one walked away from that.

“See that, Sam? See what she really is? Look at her!”

Sam’s eyes finally focus, because he hadn’t been looking at her as much as her teeth.

“See that? They’re all the same. Evil. Bloodthirsty.”

He might have gone on. There might have been more, or he might have stopped there, because Sam looked just about ready to agree if that’s what it took to get his exposed, bleeding arm with its faded mark away from the sharp teeth straining to reach it.

Then Lenore did something Dean would have thought was impossible. The way it had been explained to Dean, Sam’s blood was impossible to ignore for them. It called to them, drew them, made them crave him and Dean could believe that for the sake of shaking off Hunters, a vampire might – might – be able to turn an unhurt Sam away.

But Sam wasn’t unhurt, he was bleeding little drops of candy into her mouth and Sam was fucking terrified, which only made it taste better if Dean believed everything they’d ever been told. Over all that, Lenore pulled her teeth back. She took deep, steadying breathes and turned her head away from the drip of Sam’s blood and said one impossible word.

“No. No.”

Even Gordon looked impressed, or at least he was distracted enough for Sam to push the blade away from his throat and back away, slowly at first and then more quickly, shoving his sleeve back over his mark and the cut that bled through the fabric.

Lenore managed another, “No. No!” stronger this time with her head turned stubbornly to the side, like not being able to see Sam standing there was going to make it easier. Hell, maybe it did. Dean didn’t really have a lot of experience in that department.

Dean analyzed the situation as best he could without giving Gordon a chance to make a move. Sam was still afraid, his pupils were still blown wide and he hadn’t taken them off Lenore while he gripped the fresh wound under his shirt. No, not the wound, because he’d had far worse then that and ignored it – he was gripping his mark.

“Sam?”

Finally, Sam was able to drag his eyes away from Lenore and look at Dean, nodding. Hesitant, at first, but then more firmly.

“All right, you take her and go.” Then, just to be sure, “Lenore, that gonna be a problem?”

She shook her head vaguely, as much as the poison and the draw of fresh blood would let her. Gordon had backed up a few steps, and Sam swooped in, slicing the ropes with one of the many knives Gordon had left lying around and picked Lenore up, carrying her out as quickly as he could.

Dean read the tension in Sam’s body, tried to imagine what Sam was thinking being that close to a vampire, saving one’s life and if it had been anyone other then Sam, he wouldn’t have believed it, but as stubborn as Dean was, Sam was a hundred times more so. He’d do the right thing up until the day he died and Dean would be right behind him.

For now, though? For now, Sam would take care of Lenore, who had more than proven she could restrain herself where Sam was involved and Dean was going to have a few words with his former teacher.

 

*****

 

‘Words’ was putting it strongly. Words didn’t exactly enter into the equation. Well, there were some words. “That’s for my fucking car!” made it out of his mouth once.

Gordon didn’t exactly sit himself down in a chair and wait for Dean to tie him up, so Dean’d had to kick his ass a little first. Gordon was good and he’d taught Dean a lot of things, but while Gordon worked alone, Dean had learned from so many others and, besides that, Dean was _pissed_.

After Gordon was thoroughly beat to hell and tied to a chair, Dean took a moment to consider what he was going to say, if he was going to say anything, because the thing of it was, Gordon knew Dean well enough to know he hadn’t so much crossed the line as leapt the fuck over it. No one fucked with Sam. No one.

So, in the end, he didn’t really say much. He leered and stared and occasionally nearly lashed out, but mostly just paced the room and thought and let Gordon think. It was hours before Sam came back. The sun was just coming up and Dean was finally starting to worry that maybe his trust in an entire nest of vampires based on the strength of their leader might have been a bad idea, when Sam finally – fucking finally – came through the door and he looked…

Fine – a little tired, maybe, and his shirt sleeve was up, revealing a puffy bandage that smelled overpoweringly like sage and a few other herbs Dean couldn’t identify – but fine. “You okay?”

Sam looked at the bandage, fingering it nervously for a second before shrugging. “Yeah, I’m fine, just something to help smother the smell of my blood. Lenore was pretty insistent.” He rolled his sleeve down over it. “I miss anything?”

“Nah, not much.”

Except the part where Dean had come up with the most brilliant, understated revenge that he had ever concocted in his whole life and it was going to be hilarious. And possibly Gordon was going to hunt him down for it, because the man was all about his pride sometimes. That was why he hunted alone, because he didn’t need anyone else. Everything with Gordon was black and white and pride.   And Dean was all about Sam. Not much else to it, just Sam. So if Gordon was going to threaten Dean’s existence, Dean was going to take a swing at his.

Dean ignored Gordon glaring daggers at him. “Lenore get away okay?”

“Yeah.” Sam stared pointedly back at Gordon, “All of them did.”

Gordon continued to glare wordlessly back. Dean knew that eventually, this was all going to come back to bite them in the ass. Gordon knew their secret. Gordon knew Sam’s fear and really, after what Dean intended to do to him, Gordon was going to want some kind of revenge. If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t pursue it, but Dean deeply doubted Gordon knew what was good for him.

“Then I guess our work here is done. How are you doing Gordy. Gotta tinkle yet?” Gordon’s jaw firmed up. “Alright. Well, get comfy. We’ll call someone in two or three days, have them come out, untie you.”

If looks could have killed, Dean would have been incinerated. Of course, if looks could kill, Gordon would have been dust the second he put his hand on Sam with that knife, so maybe they were both lucky.

“Ready to go, Dean?”

“Not yet.” He considered what to say next. _I guess this is goodbye. Well, it’s been real._ But all he could think about when he looked at Gordon was Sam’s face flush with fear and Lenore’s mouth open and full of all those teeth and Sam’s blood on her face and before he even realized he’s swung, Gordon’s chair was crashing back to the ground and his knuckles felt like he might have split a few of them open. Actually, that felt better.

“Okay, I’m good now. We can go.”

 

*****

 

It took Dean a full week to notice. Not because he had a blind spot for Sam, he did, but because he would have expected Sam to tell him something that important.

They’d waited a few days before going back to the Roadhouse. Dean wanted some time with Sam in a bed, a shower, the car, the hood of the car. He needed to reassure himself that Sam was okay. He needed to run his hand all over his brother’s body and get up in him until there was no question in his mind that Sam hadn’t been lying and that he was actually as okay as he said he was.

The arm stayed bandaged, but Dean didn’t think anything about it until they made it back to the Roadhouse and Ellen asked, “You want me to take a look at that?” and Sam had turned a pretty shade of pink before shrugging, with a, “Nah, it’s okay.”

Dean knew that look. It wasn’t okay. Still, he figured if it was something that needed taking care of, Sam would tell him. Only a few days later, the bandage was still there and Dean hadn’t gotten a really good look at the injury, but he knew it didn’t merit a week under a bandage.

Maybe Sam was more hurt by having to show Gordon the mark than he’d let on. He’d always been so careful with it. Dean was the only one that ever saw it and even he tried not to touch it too much, because it reminded them both of times and things they wanted to forget. Gordon seeing that had put Dean on edge, but it must have really messed with Sam.

He needed to get them out on the road again, away from other hunters, maybe on a case, somewhere he could take his time showing Sam it was okay. He was gonna pin Sam to a bed and take off that bandage and kiss and lick Sam all over his entire body, even the faded remains of the mark and the healed line from Gordon’s knife until Sam begged to be fucked and then he’d lay Sam open and after, he’d do it again, until Sam forgot about what Gordon had seen, until just looking at the scar reminded Sam of nothing more than being fucked senseless for days on end.

Finally, he settled on telling Ellen they needed to check in with John. He was still laid up at Bobby’s and he didn’t think he’d quite convinced her that was the only reason they were heading out, but she didn’t push him and Dean wasn’t ready to talk to her about it, so they let it drop.

Sam was a little harder to convince. He seemed to be enjoying the time apart, but just because they were checking in, didn’t mean they were going to start hunting with him again, so Sam caved too and Dean started mapping out where they were going to stop and what he was going to do first. The Roadhouse was relatively empty, giving him time to really think about it.

He’d forego the usual stop just outside of town and go straight through to the motel.   They could stop early, because he hadn’t called to tell John they were coming and if Ellen did it for him, he deserved to worry a little when they took longer then he expected.

“Dean, table four needs ketchup.”

Dean turned around, leaning into the pass-through to the kitchen where Sam was helping with the dishes and his stomach dropped when he saw Sam rubbing the bandage under his shirt. He’d always done that on some level, ever since he was ten and it wasn’t like Dean expected twelve years of being marked got rubbed out in one. So, he expected that when Sam was nervous, he’d run a hand over where the mark used to be, or squeeze it subconsciously. The problem was that what Sam was doing didn’t look reflexive or subconscious. What he was doing was leaning against the wall, just out of immediate sight, his eyes closed, breath heavy in relieved pants while he vigorously rubbed the hell out of his arm like he had the worlds itchiest mosquito bite.

Then it clicked. It clicked in a big way and Dean didn’t even realize he’d said, “Fuck that,” out loud until Sam turned to look at him, green eyes wide and suddenly desperate. He didn’t even try to deny it. There wasn’t a point.

Backing out of the window, Dean clenched his fists at his sides and tried to get his thoughts in order. Except the only thought he could manage was how badly he needed to hit something. Actually, no, that wasn’t right, he needed to kill something. Something called Lenore that he’d trusted with his baby brother alone and now he was fucking marked. Again.

Dean yanked his keys out of his pocket and started for the back door, vaguely hearing Ellen call after him, but not caring. Lenore was going to fucking pay. He was going to tie her up, then he was going to kill her entire fucking nest in front of her before he took her out. He was going to make her beg for it, he’d…

“Dean!” He was abruptly yanked around by his arm and he knew from the familiar grip of large hands that it was Sam, but he still pulled away, backpedaling. Sam tried and failed to hide the hurt on his face at that. “Dean, listen…”

“No. You said she was safe. I trusted that.”

He’d also trusted that she’d been able to hold back with Sam’s blood in her mouth, but maybe that had been a lie. Maybe she’d known if she played her cards right, she’d get him alone.

“Just hold on, okay?”

“Not happening.   I should have fucking listened to Gordon.” He started to turn around to leave, managed two steps even, before Sam said something that stopped him in his tracks.

“I asked her to.” He didn’t turn around, but he stopped moving. “It took all night to convince her, Dean, but I wanted it.”

Now he did turn, confused and cornered and not sure what to make of that. “Why?!”

“Because, Dean, I don’t like being a double bacon cheese burger, okay?” Dean blinked, unable to wrap his head around what that meant. “I don’t like being a target and that’s what I’ve felt like ever since the mark went away – ever since Bobby told us what that meant. Between being marked by someone I trust and having to look over my shoulder every time we step into a new town, I choose her. I choose to be marked.”

“No, you…” Dean shoved his fists tighter into his pockets, the keys to the Impala digging painfully into his palms. “Damnit, Sammy, that’s…”

Sam squared off, pulling himself to his full height. “Don’t, Dean. I was marked for over ten years. This isn’t new, this is… familiar. I can’t… It’s really hard to explain.”

“Try.”

Sam looked back at the Roadhouse, just far enough away that they thankfully didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing them. “It’s safer, Dean, whether you want to admit it or not. Me being marked is safer than me running around like… like a double bacon fucking cheeseburger for the undead.”

The staring contest lasted a full five minutes. At some point, the back door opened and Ellen came out, but she didn’t approach them, just watched and waited. She’d get her answers eventually. Finally, Dean kicked the ground.

“Damnit, Sam. You better know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

Then, because Sam needed to be punished, even if Dean didn’t think he could do it himself, “And you get to tell Ellen. I’m going for a drive.”

Sam turned around slowly as Dean retreated and saw Ellen standing next to the back door, arms crossed over her chest expectantly and tried for one of his most reassuring, easy smiles. She returned it with a deeper frown. Shit.

“Dean, wait up!”

 

*****

 

“So, Sam, what kind of burger are you now?”

“What?”

“I’m a regular burger, you used to be a double bacon cheese burger. So what now? What do you smell like?”

“Dude, don’t be an ass.”

“Come on, Sammy.”

“Fine, okay, um, say all vampires hate onions. I’m a burger with onions. If they’re starving, they won’t care, but if they have other choices, why bother.”

“I fucking love onions.”

“Yeah, I know, I’ve woken up to that morning breath more than once, thanks.”

“No, man. I _love._ _onions_.” 

“You are such a jerk.

“Yeah, but you love it.”

“Just pull the car over already.”


End file.
